


the world was wide enough

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: A Study In Consequences, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Era, Gen, Groundhog Day, Guilt & Regret, Historical Accuracy, Politics, Reincarnation of sorts, What If Hamilton Didn't Exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: The first thing that goes through Burr's mind when he opens his eyes is: this must be a joke.Aaron Burr gets a second chance.





	the world was wide enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allonsy_gabriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/gifts).



> Happy birthday, love. Enjoy.

The first thing that goes through Burr's mind when he opens his eyes is: this must be a joke. These things do not _simply happen_ , and certainly not to individuals like Aaron Burr.

He opens his eyes in an unfamiliar room. It takes him an embarrassingly long moment to realize that the room resembles his old quarters, those he occupied before the war—the first war, the revolution, the war that changed everything.

The problem, however, does not end there. If anything, that is merely where the problem begins. By all logic, Burr should not have opened his eyes, _period_. He is dead; he remembers dying, remembers the way his heart was beating one second only to stop the next, the way he was rendered immobile; his lungs—his most important organ—failed him, refusing to work, refusing to let him take a breath, as he slowly suffocated on his own breath (or ‘dephlogisticated air’, as Priestley would describe it—Burr internally scoffs at the Brit’s obstinacy in persisting with his phlogiston theory). There was no chance of him surviving that, which, logically, leaves two possibilities: he has either ascended to the afterlife, or he has travelled back in time. Both sound equally improbable—then again, Burr has never imagined that he would be able to silence Hamilton. One bullet disproved that in a split second.

Unless this is the afterlife—in which case Burr must admit that he is severely disappointed—there is no reason for him to wake up at all, and yet here he is.

He glances down at himself, taking in the state of undress. He takes a deep breath, and cannot help but marvel at how wonderful it feels to once again be able to breathe unrestrictedly. He had been aware of the fact that old age has been taking quite a toll on his health, yes, but it is only now, with so sharp a comparison, that he realizes just how big a toll it had been.

Burr is at a loss as to what to do. He knows neither how to ascertain whether he has ascended to Heaven, nor how to disprove the illogical—and, by all reason, easily dismissive—theory that he has been misplaced in time. He considers remaining in the comfort of his bed, but the bed is not particularly comfortable, nor does he think that any problems will be solved by doing so. He decides to take a leaf out of Hamilton’s playbook, and gets up to face the world. He wonders whether the mirror is where he remembers it having been, and whether he can ascertain the age of his body.

Somehow, Burr faintly thinks as he crosses the room, Hamilton is to be blamed for this. Even when he is long dead and buried—Burr stomps on the twinge of guilt that courses through him at the thought—he still manages to be the bane of Burr’s existence. Is it not enough that he has tarnished Burr’s legacy, that his ghost will hang over Burr’s memory forever, their lives interwoven in an inexplicable braid that will leave historians scrambling to untangle it?

He concedes that, should this be Hamilton’s fault, it was simultaneously the immigrant’s greatest accomplishment to date—and that was quite impressive, all things considered.

He takes one look at himself. He looks quite young—either late College of New Jersey or early Connecticut Law, if he is to make an estimation. This, coupled with the fact that his room resembles the one he had lived in during his studies with his brother-in-law, leaves him inclined to believe that his body is meant to resemble that of Aaron Burr of around 1775. Then again, he reminds himself, it would be prudent to wait with any assumptions until he has more information to either confirm or deny his suspicions.

What he does not understand is that, should this be the afterlife, what purpose would there be for changing his body to look as it did sixty years ago? Burr simply does not see it. He writes it up as an argument against the afterlife theory, then contemplates his next move.

Leaving the room would probably give him more hints as to his predicament. Yes, that sounds like a reasonable move.

• • •

”Pardon me,” Burr calls out into the empty air as he steps out into a room that bears a striking resemblance to his brother-in-law’s living quarters, “but is anyone perchance here?”

“Aaron?” says a voice that Burr hasn’t heard in _years_ , and yet is as familiar to him as his own. His sister is sitting in an armchair, surrounded by balls of garn. In her hands are two knitting needles, and in her lap lies what Burr can only assume to be a sweater, though he is too far away to verify his hypothesis.

Burr finds that he cannot swallow. He tries to move, but it is as though his feet have frozen to the floor. “Sally?” he echoes.

His sister frowns. She places the needles in her lap, and fixes Burr with an inquisitive look. “Yes?” she asks expectantly. “Is there anything you wanted?”

“But—You’re—“ Burr is at a loss for words. The last time he had felt as confused had been when Jefferson had asked him to rule against then-Supreme Court Justice Samuel Chase in what had to have been the most hypocritical move of Jefferson’s entire political career.

“I am…?” Sally trails off pointedly. “Aaron, brother, this conversation requires for you to finish your queries properly if you wish for me to answer them. I know that you lean towards reticence, but this is honestly a step too far!” She giggles at her own joke, oblivious to the turmoil that is stirring up within her brother.

 _This is impossible_ , he thinks. _Sally Burr Reeve died on Mach 30, 1797. I watched her die._

_And yet._

• • •

Burr manages to ascertain a few facts, none of which do anything to settle his nerves.

For one, no one else seems to have any recollection of their lives. That makes no sense if this is the afterlife. Odder still, any and all men Burr talks to act as though they do not remember that they are no longer under British rule. It is almost as though they have forgotten that there had been a war.

Burr’s stomach sinks to the floor as he considers the information he has gathered. He is filled with dread as he comes to the inevitable conclusion that there is only one person who can confirm Burr’s conjectures.

Instinctively, Burr knows who holds the answers he seeks, and yet he loathes to seek him out. He somehow doubts that Hamilton has forgiven him for shooting him, and does not feel any particular desire to confront the immigrant. Still, Burr knows that if anyone is to be forthright with him, it will be Hamilton—the man is physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut for longer than five seconds.

He needs to find Hamilton.

• • •

That is easier said than done. Burr is in Connecticut, and, if Hamilton’s presence is to follow the same patterns as the rest of the people Burr has met, Burr will find Hamilton in King’s College in New York, which is at least a full day’s worth of travel, even if Burr manages to find a fast and resilient horse. Most likely, it would be two full days before Burr even sets foot in his former school.

Burr considers this. Speaking with Hamilton ranks among the very last things he wants to do—along with ever meeting Thomas Jefferson, but he has a sneaking suspicion that he is not going to get either of his wishes—especially since the last time they conversed face-to-face, Burr had shot Hamilton. Suffice to say that Burr is not particularly looking forward to meeting the man, and would like to delay that encounter for as long as possible.

Still, Burr needs answers.

He informs Tapping of his plans to travel to New York, though he does not tell him the purpose—considering the general attitude of the people Burr had conversed with, he doubts that Tapping would believe him even if he had. A smooth lie about visiting old friends slips off Burr’s tongue, and Tapping nods, eating it up as a child would a sugar-glazed pear. “Of course, Aaron,” his brother-in-law says with a smile. “I understand completely. You deserve a break. I wish I could do the same, but”—he shrugs—“duty calls. If only I had as easy a time memorizing the legislature; alas, the British parliament does not wish to make our lives easier.”

Burr wants to say that Tapping will not need to study it for much longer, but holds his tongue. It is not his place to say it—if he _is_ in the past, it might set off a chain of events, the outcome of which Burr cannot fathom. And if it is not… There is also the possibility that this is a test designed to evaluate Burr’s discretion and critical thinking. It sounds as plausible as any theory he has come up with, at any rate, and if it _is_ true, Burr refuses to fail it simply because he cannot hold his tongue. He can wait.

The one time he had not waited, after all, the one time he had taken a chance and acted on his instincts, he had been the cause of the death of his erstwhile friend, and the consequences of it had followed him for the rest of his life.

Never let it be said that Aaron Burr does not learn from his mistakes.

• • •

Burr arrives in New York narrowly before sunset the following day. He checks into a boarding-house within walking distance of King’s College, just far enough that he would not run into too many undesirable faces, yet simultaneously close enough that he would not need to walk a great distance in the morning.

The next day, having bathed and broken his fast, he sets off to the college, determined to get the answers out of Hamilton. He has come this far, after all. He deserves to know what is going on.

• • •

Burr approaches Myles Cooper, the president of King’s College. He spends a few minutes engaging in small talk with the man, updating him on his life and artfully avoiding any mention of the impending conflict with Britain, knowing of Cooper’s political inclination all too well from Hamilton, whom the man had spent months arguing, before bringing up the matter on his mind. “Is there by happenstance a student by the name of Alexander Hamilton currently attending your college, professor?”

Even having spent two full days travelling here, Burr still does not know which response he is hoping for. On one hand, if the answer is positive, Burr has a chance of tracking Hamilton down and inveigling him into giving Burr answers. On the other hand, that also means that Hamilton can find Burr, and Burr is truthfully not entirely comfortable with the idea.

Cooper shakes his head. “Not that I can recall. Why the sudden interest? I have never known you to be inquisitive into other people’s business.” Cooper is not nearly as subtle about his curiosity in whatever Burr is searching for as he would have Burr believe. Then again, as Burr had once been called the master of subterfuge, he is quite adept at spotting minuscule tells (although, come to think of it, since the words had come from Hamilton, they probably had not been meant as a compliment).

Burr smiles politely. “Simply idle curiosity. I thank you for indulging an inquisitive man.”

This cannot be _it_. Hamilton must be here somewhere. Burr resolves to keep searching by other means.

• • •

In the following hours, Burr makes a startling discovery: Hamilton is not to be found anywhere—not in his loggings, not in his classes, not even in the library as Burr thought he might.

He asks around, smiling at the right people, murmuring praises into one ear or another, but that does not get him any closer to discovering Hamilton’s location.

No one on campus knows anyone by that name. That is what first sets off bells in Burr’s mind, because Hamilton is anything but forgettable. One tends to notice whenever Hamilton is in the vicinity. The man is quite hard to miss, after all, despite his posture.

Burr is forced to draw a terrifying conclusion: Hamilton is not in New York. He _should_ be, according to Burr’s estimates of the year, and yet he is so clearly _not_.

The sinking feeling in Burr’s stomach intensifies.

Where is Hamilton? What is happening? Why _him_ —why Burr—of all people?

Burr does not know, and he does not like not knowing.

• • •

Burr returns to the boarding-house to regroup and gather his thoughts. He absentmindedly declines a dinner invitation. He needs time alone, away from the crowd that was beginning to feel oppressive, like a cloud that hangs over him ominously.

He had not prepared a back-up plan in case this one had failed—he had been so sure of himself, so certain that Hamilton would be at King’s College, that he had not bothered with one. Hamilton was the one reliable constant throughout Burr’s life—whether a friend or an enemy, he was always _there_. Burr had not expected him to, well, _not_ be.

Burr’s throat clogs up inexplicably. All of a sudden, he is uncertain as to what to do, is at a loss as to how to proceed. He realizes, in a flash of clarity, that, for a long time, that a great majority of his life, especially his political career, had been him acting contrary to Hamilton simply because he felt that he should have; he provided a contrast to Hamilton, differing from the immigrant whenever possible, in hopes of protecting—and mayhaps even furthering—his parents’ legacy. It is only now that Hamilton is not by his side to pester him and be a general nuisance, that there is a Hamilton-shaped hole in his life. Burr does not know when it had been created, nor how to fill it.

Where does that leave him?

• • •

In the end, Burr resolves to bide his time. He returns to Litchfield, Connecticut, and throws himself back into work, dismissing Tapping’s concerns regarding his person. If work has worked as a distraction for Alexander Hamilton, it damn well will work for Aaron Burr.

He will bide his time, and wait for the war to start. He sees no point in trying to prevent it—although he knows the casualties their side has suffered, he sees no other way to resolve the conflict. The thirteen colonies have long been a bomb about to explode, and their indignation about the tea tax—Burr scoffs as he remembers Hamilton’s ridiculously high taxes on virtually everything from whiskey to textile exports, and considers that it may have been better for the colonists’ personal economy if they had stayed under British rule—is virtually impossible to allay. Besides, if there is war, Hamilton will undoubtedly be found in the midst of it. He has never been one to step down from a challenge, and if there exists any version of Hamilton in this timeline, he will undoubtedly be found right in the middle of the war.

Maybe, he muses, it is too early for Hamilton to be in New York yet. Burr knows that Hamilton should not be anywhere but here, in America, but he cannot rule out the possibility that Hamilton had been delayed—though why, Burr cannot imagine, as he has done nothing to put in place so great a change.

• • •

1775 turns into 1776. As he goes about his days, Burr grows more firm in his conviction that he had travelled backward in time. Although he is not able to eliminate any of the three possibilities, so far, everything seems to point to the fact that he has, in truth, travelled backwards in time. He does not know how to explain it, nor how inclined he is to believe it, but he can hardly deny the evidence: no one he talks to seems to have any recollection of any events past 1775, and they appear to harbour no ill-will towards Burr, which is a feeling that he has gotten infinitely better at detecting over the years—he had to have, considering how he has been pursued by seemingly half of the civilized world for one action or another. One person to have forgotten his actions, Burr could buy, but _twenty_? That is too much of a coincidence. No, there is a greater likelihood that he had actually been misplaced in time, absurd though it sounds.

Still, this raises a legitimate question: if he is in fact back in 1775, _where is Hamilton_? This is one mystery that Burr cannot solve. It does not make sense for him to be missing—there is nothing that Burr has done that could result in Hamilton’s absence.

As summer approaches, Burr decides go to Washington. He does not exactly have the best relationship with the man, knows that the man has always instinctively held distaste for him, but he does not know why, and he hopes to remedy that.

Besides, says a small voice in the back of Burr’s mind, if Hamilton is not here, Burr will not have to compete with Hamilton for the position of Washington’s right-hand man. Before, he could not hope to compete with a force of nature, but if there was none in the first place… well, Burr has to take comfort in the small things, does he not?

He travels to New York first, with the intention of checking on King’s College first. Maybe Hamilton has arrived by this point.

(He has not. Burr tries not to feel relieved.)

His journey to Philadelphia takes another two days, which Burr spends once again contemplating the evidence he has amassed. He draws up a plan of what he will say to the general. Once he arrives in Philadelphia, Burr does not quite _demand_ to see Washington—the general is a busy man, after all—but it is a close call. He is let in. He takes a deep breath to steady himself; he knows what he is here for, after all.

“General Washington, sir?” Burr says as he enters Washington’s tent. He chooses not to address the man as ‘His Excellency’; that had been the title Hamilton had used, and even though Burr had tried to imitate him, Washington’s attitude towards Burr had never wavered in its aversion. Burr resolves to try something new, to take a path Hamilton had not. He feels an almost burning need to distinguish himself as something different from Hamilton.

Washington frowns as he puts away the quill he is holding. “Who are you?” he does not quite snap. The dark rings under his eyes are visible for Burr to see, and he is once again reminded of why Washington had requested an aide in the first place. He thinks back to Washington in the other timeline, Washington who had Hamilton working under him. He recalls tiredness, yes, and hunger, but that is to be expected from a general waging a war against impossible odds. Still, it had not been quite such utter exhaustion as Burr is seeing right now. This, Burr acknowledges, is far beyond the normal state of a commander-in-chief; Burr should know—he has seen quite a few in his days.

Had Hamilton’s presence really made so great a difference for Washington’s health?

“Aaron Burr, sir,” Burr begins politely. “Permission to state my case?”

Washington signs. He closes his eyes and rubs his temples in an attempt to stave off an oncoming headache. “As you were,” he says wearily.

“I was previously stationed as an aide-de-camp to General Montgomery until he met an untimely end in Quebec. I believe that I would be of immense help to you and your war effort. Even from a distance, I cannot help but admire the techniques you are using against the British in this war.”

“Huh.” Washington does not sound impressed.

“Still, I think that they could stand to be improved. I have some suggestions on how to fight instead of fleeing west.”

Is it only Burr’s imagination, or is there desperation Washington’s eyes? “Yes?”

Burr takes a deep breath. _This is it._ This is the moment he had been waiting for. “First and foremost, there is a shortage of—“

The rest of Burr’s reply is once again interrupted—Burr cannot help but wonder if he is simply not meant to finish his conversation with Washington—by George Lewis, Washington’s nephew, who had, if Burr’s memory is not failing him, briefly served as Washington’s aide-de-camp for some months during 1775 and 1776.

“Sir, I—“ the boy cuts himself off as he sees Burr. His face turns red. “Forgive me for barging in like this, sir; I did not know that I was interru—“

Washington waves off Lewis’ concern. “Never mind, lieutenant. What news do you have?”

“Well”—the boy seems unnerved by Burr’s presence; he focuses on Washington—“Mr Tilghman has received a missive from Philadelphia, and he says that it is quite urgent that you see it. Sir,” he hastens to add, biting his lip in a habit that Burr recognizes as one of Hamilton’s; for a moment, he cannot help but wonder which of the aides-de-camp had picked it up first, before scolding himself. Hamilton is not here to pass on any habits, useful or otherwise, and so it must have been Lewis’ to begin with.

Washington sighs again. “Thank you, lieutenant. Tell Tilghman that I will be with him in a moment. Dismissed.”

The boy stands before Washington awkwardly for another second, before coming to his senses. He bows hastily and retreats with as much haste as he can spare, leaving Burr once again alone with Washington.

Burr feels the general’s eyes on him. He stands absolutely still.

“Well?” Washington asks at last. His lips are drawn up into a thin line. “Is there anything you wish to add?”

Burr swallows. “No, sir.”

Washington’s eyes are cold as he says, “Then I trust that you can see yourself out, captain.”

• • •

The conversation with Washington leaves him in equal parts bewildered, infuriated, and despairing. Washington once again refuses Burr’s help—even now, even when Hamilton is not here to outshine everyone in his vicinity. What _is_ it about Washington? What does he think he knows about Burr? He does not understand.

Burr is once again offered the same job he had in his past life. This time, he accepts Washington's offer, ignoring the way it slights him still. Burr has expected that, with Hamilton gone, he would have gotten his job, but to no avail. It seems that Washington's dislike of him had been the deciding factor in that case. It is a quite chilling realization. Burr has long blamed Hamilton for having been overlooked for the position of Washington’s right-hand man, but his stance had clearly been erroneous.

Hamilton is still yet to be seen. Although he does not acknowledge it even to himself, Burr is beginning to worry. What is taking Hamilton so long to get to America?

(The possibility that Hamilton is not coming to America at all does not cross Burr's mind. It is simply _not possible_ , he tells himself.)

Burr is once again waiting. He waits for Hamilton to catch up with the rest of them. Undoubtedly, once he does, it will cause Burr no small amount of annoyance that Hamilton will once again race past him, ever the trailblazer, but at the same time, it would be a source of comfort to know that at least he has Hamilton by his side, that he is not alone in this experience.

It never occurs to Burr that Hamilton might not remember either. He is a force of nature, a whirlwind, a hurricane; he will not be overcome by as petty a thing as memories.

As for Burr? He becomes Washington's undersecretary, working under Tench Tilghman, who now occupies the position Hamilton had once held and which Burr has long coveted.

Burr cannot shake off the feeling that everything feels emptier, almost pointless, without Hamilton—like the universe is just ever-so-slightly _wrong_.

• • •

Burr watches the people around him, and is dismayed at what he sees.

Lafayette and Laurens still form a friendship, but without Hamilton, the glue that helps them together and the fan that stoked the embers of their revolutionary flames, their friendship doesn't go far beyond the kind of bond Burr had shared with either man. It certainly doesn't become the kind of legendary triumvirate Burr has heard spoken of in bars in his past life—sometimes in whispers and hushed voices, while at others sung about rowdily after one too many drinks.

The quality of their bond notwithstanding, Laurens is the closest thing Lafayette has to a close friend at camp, barring the general himself. Burr certainly makes no effort to befriend the Frenchman; although he knows that the feelings are unfounded, he cannot help but feel dread every time he has to speak with him, anxious that the taller man will see right through him.

Mulligan is also glaringly absent from the previously inseparable band of friends. Burr is reminded of the fact that Mulligan had only ever been brought into the group through Hamilton. Without the immigrant, he has no way of forming a connection with the two. Yet another life Hamilton had unconsciously influenced.

Burr thinks mockingly to himself that he should start keeping a list.

• • •

The lack of Hamilton has far-reaching effects, loathe as Burr is to admit it. Lafayette, rather than confide in Laurens, chooses to confide in Washington. Burr wouldn't have noticed, either, except for how _despondent_ and _melancholy_ Laurens becomes. It reaches a point where Lafayette mentions it to Burr, when though they aren't close, during one of their rare evenings off. Burr has a sneaking suspicion that he knows the cause of Laurens’ mood shift, but he doesn't mention it to Lafayette. He knows of the bond Laurens had shared with Hamilton, once upon a time.

One evening, he follows Laurens to a bar. He watches him nurse his drink alone, and cannot help that there is something—or rather, some _one—_ missing. The man is almost eerily silent without the loquacious Hamilton and the energetic Lafayette and the boisterous Mulligan by his side. He watches as Laurens finally chats up another soldier, a captain by the looks of his outfit, the golden epaulet on his right shoulder glimmering in the faint candlelight as he turns his head towards Laurens. They talk for a moment, their voices barely louder than a whisper, before leaving. Burr’s eyes follow Laurens as the man walks across the room. He thinks that he should reprimand the lieutenant colonel for his carelessness—they can well be caught, being so overt about their intentions—but ultimately decides against it. It is not his business, and Burr is not Laurens’ chaperone. He is aware of the consequences of his actions, should he be caught.

Lafayette asks Burr to watch out for Laurens—why, Burr has no idea, as he interacts with the man even less than the Frenchman; the only reason he has had as much contact with Laurens in the other timeline was because of _Hamilton_. Burr very carefully doesn't make any promises. He knows Laurens, knows the kind of things he's capable of if he puts his mind to it.

• • •

Laurens throws himself in front of a bullet a bullet during the Battle of Monmouth. Ironically, the bullet had been meant for Charles Lee. Laurens doesn't seem to care. By the time a medic reaches him, Laurens’ body is cold.

Burr can't help but wonder how much of Laurens’ innate recklessness has been reigned in by Hamilton's presence and the promise of a future, however fleeting. Hamilton seems to have given Laurens a purpose in life, a reason to live. Without the man, Laurens has no reason to go on.

Burr pretends not to notice the tears staining Lafayette’s eyes as he informs Washington of the losses Charles Lee’s incompetence has cost them. Burr thinks that he begins to understand why Hamilton wanted to shoot him. The man causes more trouble than he is worth.

Neither Hamilton nor Laurens are there to challenge the man to a duel this time, however. Burr doesn’t act either. At night, he asks himself whether what stays his mind are his morals, or his self-admitted unwillingness to take a chance.

What is he waiting for?

He is waiting for Hamilton, Burr reminds himself, for Hamilton to show up and make things right again. But that is not quite the question he is asking himself, is it?

The longer he waits, the more he is under the impression that he waits for naught.

• • •

Burr watches Washington struggle. He wonders, not for the first time, what exactly Hamilton had been helping Washington with. How much of their victory should have been rightfully attributed to Hamilton?

They win Yorktown, though at a heavy price. Lafayette, still grieving Laurens and frustrated with Conway's lack of competence, throws himself in front of a bullet meant for one of the men under his command.  

The entire battlefield just seems to _freeze_ for a split second.

That second is all the time a young colonel needs to aim his gun at the sole remaining guard of one of the watchtowers, who is distracted with the death of one of the commanders. The colonel’s bullet flies true, and then the watchtower is theirs.

From there, it's easy work to dispatch the rest of the vantage point, though it would have been easier still with Lafayette in charge. As it is, they lose an additional seven men to small skirmishes, but their goal is achieved. Burr tries not to think about it too much.

• • •

Burr supposes that he has always _known_ , but it is only now, with two sets of memories providing such stark contrasts in his mind, that Burr realizes just how close they had been to losing the war; how little it would have taken to bring them down. Their losses compared with the first time were innumerable. He has severely underestimated Hamilton’s significance, it seems.

Burr realizes with a start that he _misses_ Hamilton.

Not just what he could do, not just what he was capable of—although he cannot deny that his particular skillset would be very useful—but simply Hamilton’s _presence_.

He tries—and fails—to shake off the importance of that realization.

• • •

The war is over, but the real struggle has only begun.

They need to build up their country again. They need to create an entirely new system of government. For that, the Articles need to be amended. The Constitutional Convention needs to propose it, and get enough votes to get it passed through itself. Then, if Burr remembers correctly, the governments of at least nine of the thirteen states need to ratify it.

But first, they need to _have_ a Constitutional Convention—which had only come about the last time because Hamilton had been brash enough to, in Annapolis, declare that there was a need for a more widespread meeting to overhaul the Articles. Burr wonders whether that can still happen without Hamilton’s persistence to stick his nose where it does not belong.

Burr comes to the realization then that he has stopped waiting for Hamilton to arrive, has stopped hanging onto the hope that Hamilton is here, that he will be _here_ , in America. At this point, Burr is not even sure anymore that Hamilton _is_ at all.

• • •

It turns out that the answer to Burr’s question is _yes_ , the Convention can and will still happen. James Madison, enraged by the colonies’ seeming inability to accomplish even the most minute of feats, decides to take matters into his own hands. Burr internally gloats. Alexander Hamilton had not been quite so indispensable after all.

(Or so Burr tells himself.)

Still, the worst is yet to come. The proposal and the subsequent ratification of the Constitution will not happen without outside help—without someone convincing the state legislators that it is in their best interest to pass them. Burr hopes that Madison is up to the task. Then again, Burr recalls with a start, feeling a shudder run through him—has it not been Hamilton who had led the effort with the Federalist papers, had been the one to plan it and sketch outlines and draft others into helping him write it? Madison might have gotten the credit for it, but Hamilton had been the true reason the Virginia plan, and subsequently the Constitution, had been passed. Even at the Convention, he had—if the rumours were to be believed—presented a plan so radical that it made the Virginia plan seem moderate in comparison. Without Hamilton’s influence…

Well, Burr is about to find out what happens. If the wind blows the other way, Burr might not need to worry about Madison being able to defend the Constitution by himself; _there might be no Constitution_.

• • •

The wind does blow the other way.

The Virginia plan does not pass. The Articles stand.

Burr feels something _shift_.

• • •

One evening, after a particularly taxing day, Burr writes down the Constitution from memory. Once finished, he leans back and contemplates the document before him. As far as he knows, this is the only proof—the only trace—of the existence of a world different than the one Burr is currently inhabiting.

The Virginia plan was not passed. Without it to spark a discussion, the New Jersey plan has not even been _drafted_. Burr doubts that anyone but him—and maybe Madison, although he is not on familiar enough terms with the man to ascertain this—realizes just what it means. Compared to the power the Constitution had been able to grant the American government, even Burr has to admit that the Articles are hardly worth more than the parchment they are written on. They remain in truth nothing more than a confederation of sovereign colonies—now calling themselves _states_ —unable to unite together under one leadership.

The government, if it can even be called that, is powerless: it cannot create alliances, it cannot regulate its own economy, and it cannot even demand that states support the military effort. Every state strives to defend itself with its own militia, reluctant to share its troops with the not-yet disbanded Continental Army, which renders it indescribably _weak_. Before, the thing that held them together was the fact that they had all wished to be rid of the hold the British Empire had over them; once the war had been won, however, there is no longer anything binding the states together as a country.

In essence, they are as powerless as Hamilton had on numerous times complained about.

The small states feud with the large ones over representation in the government, but ultimately, it does not matter. The Articles do not so much forbid a common economy as they simply do not enforce one, but the end result is the same: the states all have their own separate tariffs, and since there is no centralized system of taxes, it leads to the logical conclusion that there is also no way to impose said taxes on the states, nor is there a common national treasury to collect them. This leaves the government—Burr snorts at the name, because many things it may be, but this ruling body is not a government as it ought to be—virtually existing simply for the sake of existing. Indeed, it is not so much a government as a body of representatives from each state whose sole purpose is to be diplomats.

At this rate, Burr ponders, there are, realistically speaking, two possible outcomes: either America will be overtaken by some major European power (most likely Britain or Spain), or there will break out total anarchy amongst the colonies. He does not know which he fears the most.

The Articles do allow for a president to be elected by the majority of the delegates from the different states, but no one wishes to be president, not least because it is clear that it would be a thankless task with little to show for it.

This is not a government that works on the people; it works on the states. Burr’s stomach plummets unpleasantly as he becomes conscious of this. This is not the kind of country he had fought and killed to create.

• • •

Washington eventually accepts the offer of president, though not without extensive persuasion from Madison. No one is more relieved than Burr: for all of his faults, and there are too many to name, Washington is nothing if not stable. Amidst the stormy sea that is the chaos suddenly surrounding everything, it is comforting to have an anchor to keep one firmly in place.

When it becomes apparent that nobody will want to get within ten feet of the pandemonium that is the figurative Department of the Treasury, impotent in everything but name, Burr decides to take on Hamilton's mantle. He opens up a dialogue with a certain Robert Morris, the man almost assured to become Washington's Secretary of the Treasury with Hamilton out of the picture, the same way he knew Hamilton had done. Call him nosy, but he was curious as to what kind of a man would cause such admiration in Hamilton as that which the immigrant had displayed for Morris.

Burr would be lying if he had said it isn't also in part because he is frankly horrified at the shoddy state of America's economy. He had become far too used to the structure of her finances Hamilton had left behind. For all his faults, and there were many, Hamilton was an adept man when it came to fiscal matters. Even Jefferson had been forced to admit that Hamilton's plan was flawless. Somewhere during their interaction, Burr decides to propose snippets of Hamilton's plan to Morris on the hopes that the man will implement them.

Morris is pleasantly surprised to discover a man of his own ilk in Burr. 'You my Sir have a sharp head for the monetary Pursuits,’ the man writes. Burr quietly disagrees—it had always been Hamilton who could juggle numbers and sums as easily as he could talk, and Lord knows he was a natural at _that_ —but does not share his opinion with Morris. He figures that it's less of a hassle to let the man think Burr is a financial prodigy. That way, Burr might be able to guide him in the right direction when the man will take office.

Morris doesn't become Secretary of the Treasury. Burr does. Nobody is more surprised by this development than Burr himself. He is all too aware of Washington's inexplicable and blatant dislike of his person.

Without quite understanding why, Burr keeps tabs on Eliza Schuyler. What he sees gladdens him, for it proves that Hamilton hadn't been all-essential for everyone's happiness.

• • •

Thomas Jefferson is back from France.

The news has been spreading like wildfire, whispered from one ear to another, until the entire city is in turmoil before dusk. Burr does not understand everyone’s fascination with Jefferson. He had worked with the man closely before, and he firmly believes that Jefferson is simply another person, just favoured by luck. The man had spent most of his term as vice president on taking long walks around Monticello, occasionally opposing whatever measures Adams and the Federalists attempted to put in place.

No, there is nothing special about Thomas Jefferson.

This is what Burr tells himself as he comes face to face with Thomas Jefferson, who, peculiarly enough, seems almost _shocked_ to see him. Whatever his reason, he gathers his wits about him quickly. “Thomas Jefferson,” he says in a voice that could almost be described as charming if Burr wasn’t so very aware of what it is capable of.

“Aaron Burr,” Burr replies as he tentatively shakes Jefferson’s hand.

“Mr Burr has been recommended by Mr Morris to lead the Treasury Department,” Washington says in a voice that plainly indicates his disagreement with Morris’ assessment of Burr’s character.

One of Jefferson’s eyebrows rises up in incredulity. “I see,” he drawls.

Washington now turns to address Burr, seemingly loathe to do so. Burr still is undecided as to whether that fact gladdens or exasperates him. “Mr Jefferson, as you are aware, has valuable ties with foreign diplomats. He is an excellent choice for Secretary of State.”

Jefferson positively _preens_ under the praise, leaving Burr wondering whether Washington would still offer the same kind of appraisal if Hamilton had been present; it seems to him that Washington, in any given situation, subconsciously appears to eulogize the individual he is the most fond of, and in a choice between Burr and Jefferson, the Virginian wins by a landslide.

 _Just the way it was with Hamilton,_ Burr’s traitorous brain adds helpfully. _“Jefferson has my vote”, wasn't it?_

• • •

Burr is concerned with the influence Madison and Jefferson exert on Washington.

In what Burr has taken to calling the ‘other timeline’, Washington had been a friend of James Madison’s for a long time, before the issue of Hamilton and his opinions drove them apart. If Hamilton is not here to create the rift between them, will Washington still change his beliefs to match the Federalists’, who are a much weaker force this time around? Would his views on slavery change as much as they did in the other timeline, or would he instead become a follower of Jefferson and Madison? What would that mean for the confederation?

Burr continues to observe Washington. He does not like what he sees. It feels to him as though every conversation with Jefferson, every smile and friendly handshake exchanged with Madison, brings them all closer to their grim fate.

• • •

“No, Burr,” Washington says in a hard voice. “My decision is final. I will not support your plan.”

Burr starts. “Your Excellency, with all due respect,” he begins, in his hurry putting less thought into his words than he would have liked, “you hired me to create an economy, a _future_. You need to trust that I—”

“I have been advised by numerous individuals just what kinds of consequences your plan will have. I will not risk it.”

“If those individuals are Madison and Jefferson, sir, forgive me for saying this but they have no autho—”

“They are citizens of this country, and that is all the authority they need to form an opinion on the matter. Moreover, James Madison is an old friend of mine, and I will not have his reputation _slandered_ because you cannot do your job, Secretary Burr. All of that aside, I simply do not have the kind of power to force every state to sign this.” Washington leans back in his chair with a sigh, suddenly seeming to age decades in mere seconds. “That is all. I trust that you can see yourself out?’

It is a dismissal if Burr ever heard one. He wonders how many times they would butt heads before one of them cracks.

All he can think of on his way out is, _Hamilton could have convinced him. Hamilton_ did _convince him._

_How?_

• • •

“Ah, Burr,” Jefferson's smirk is positively audible. “How nice of you to join us.”

Burr tampers down on the anger that swells up in his throat. It wouldn't do to antagonize Jefferson and Madison before the dinner has even begun. “I am honoured by your invitation,” he replies instead.

Jefferson’s smirk is too knowing for Burr’s liking. “I’m sure you are,” he said smoothly.

“Now that we’ve moved past pleasantries,” Burr says, “I believe that we are here for a reason.”

Madison chuckles. “No beating around the bush with you, is there?”

Jefferson doesn't add his own two cents of mockery, too busy staring at Burr as though he was a new specimen Jefferson hasn't seen before and is simply _dying_ to dissect and see what made him tick. It unnerved Burr in more ways than he could list.

“I propose an exchange: I give you Federalist endorsement of the Virginia/Philadelphia plan for the capital’s location, and you, in turn, don't oppose my financial measures,” Burr says plainly. At this point, he feels not unlike a donkey, stubborn to a fault, but he is determined to pass his centralized tax plan.

Jefferson snorts derisively. “Do you take me for a fool?” _Never, Jefferson,_ Burr thinks. _A hypocrite, maybe, but never a fool._ “You will have gained much more by this than we. You will have gained the power to focus the trade in the northern states, effectively putting the economical center of our new country in your beloved _New York,_ ” the Virginian all but spits. “I may not approve of these merchant ideals, but I _am_ familiar with how much power money can buy. Besides, you cannot garner much Federalist support, so your side of the bargain would essentially amount to nothing. That hardly seems like a fair exchange.”

“They are not _my_ ideals,” Burr tells Jefferson, measuring his words carefully.

“No,” Jefferson agrees, a cruel smile playing on his lips, “you are just the messenger. I simply wish the Federalists would have chosen someone with more _spunk_ in him to send before us. Someone capable of an actual opinion. I almost feel insulted.”

Burr sighs. That is what it all comes down to in the end, isn't it? _Opinions._ Contrary to what Hamilton would have everyone believe, Burr _does_ have them. The problem is that he has many conflicting opinions, cursed with the ability to see a conflict from both sides.

All but the conflict that mattered the most, it seems.

Burr grimaces. He had long since realized that, in a problem, the solution is rarely simple. Black and white, absolute right and absolute wrong, were abstract concepts. Reality was _so much more complicated_ , and how could Burr honestly choose one side over the other when he knew exactly what drive both sides into a righteous anger? Neither is _wrong,_ per se. It all depended on one's point of view.

“Besides, we don't need your help in getting votes to pass our plan,” Madison adds, a final nail in Burr’s coffin. “We already have enough support.”

“So tell me again,” Jefferson picks up where Madison leaves off, two bodies becoming one mind, working in tandem seamlessly, “ _why_ should we help you? What can you offer us that we don't already have?”

“A free country,” Burr says desperately, grasping for straws. Judging by Madison's head tilt, he isn't nearly as subtle had her like to be. “A country not ravaged by the vultures that we call investors.”

Jefferson clucks his tongue in disapproval. “I hardly think it is _that_ bad,” he remarks lightly.

“It is,” Burr says solemnly. _You have_ no idea _, Thomas Jefferson. You have no idea what it could be like, what it is_ supposed _to be like, what Hamilton had made it into. You are incapable of seeing the bigger picture._

Jefferson laughs, leaning back in his chair. Burr flushes red with shame.

Madison shakes his head. “We are done here, Burr.” To Burr, the words feel like a final verdict.

Were Hamilton sitting here, he would have argued against Madison's words until he ran out of breath or the Virginians threw him out. Alas, Burr is not Hamilton. He nods, accepting Madison's decision without a fight. What is the use, anyway? It is painfully clear that both Madison and Jefferson had made up their minds looking before Burr had entered this room. His mind already begins plotting and calculating, trying to figure out where he will have to turn—where he _can_ turn—to get the support he needs.

As Burr closes the door, he can hear Jefferson and Madison chattering quietly, and can't shake off the feeling that the dinner had been done sort of a test—one he had failed spectacularly.

What did Hamilton do that Burr could not? What is Burr _missing_?

• • •

 _We bleed and fight for you,_ Burr writes to his daughter. He signs, putting away his quill. Lately, it seems that that is all they do, and Burr is as a loss as to what to do.

Burr previously attributed this phenomenon to Hamilton, but it seems that making peace isn't as easy as removing the instigator of the argument. The foundation causing them is still there underneath.

• • •

Propelled forward at Jefferson’s insistence, and with his encouragement, Washington decides to aid the French in their revolution. The cause is obvious: Hamilton is not there to counterbalance Jefferson’s blind admiration for France, which weakens them, both militarily and economically.

 _If we survive_ that _,_ Burr thinks despondently, _by the time the war of 1812 comes around, we will be so depleted that Britain will defeat us easily._

Burr realizes with a start that he wants to _do something_ to prevent it. He is tired of waiting—he waits and waits and waits, but nothing seems to happen, nothing _improves_. Someone needs to do _something_ , and if no one else will… Well, Burr will simply have to take a leaf out of Hamilton’s playbook again.

He’s going to change things. He’s going to make a difference this time.

One of the first things to address, in Burr’s mind, is the question of slavery. Benjamin Franklin dies in 1790, leaving the abolitionist cause without a clear leader. Once, in a lifetime that feels farther away and buried more deeply by the day, Hamilton filled that role, his instinctual hatred of all things Jefferson seamlessly translating into an opposition of slavery. Now, with Hamilton gone, the Federalists have not only lost their most influential supporter in the capital, but also their principal wordsmith. Burr’s mind quickly comes to the obvious conclusion: with no staunch supporters of the abolition of slavery, the institution might very well go on for longer than 1865.

Burr’s choice is clear: he can either take up Hamilton’s position as the leader of the abolition effort, risking his career by taking a stance, or he can change allegiances and side with Jefferson. Neither option sounds particularly appealing, the first one even more so, but Burr has already decided that something needs to _change_ , lest their dream should perish.

He picks up a pen and begins writing.

• • •

Washington serves eight years as president of a failing union. When he does leave, Burr finds that he cannot blame him for it.

He bids Washington goodbye, with genuine despondency, because he knows that the times ahead will only get more turbulent as it goes along. And yet, a faint flame flares up within him. History is so full of upheavals, so tumultuous, and Burr cannot help but hope that he has a chance. A chance for what, he does not yet dare to admit, even to himself.

Predictably, Jefferson runs for office. What he hopes to get out of a position that gives nothing but empty promises to people, Burr does not comprehend. The problem is that there is no clear opponent to Jefferson’s candidacy. Certainly, Adams is running, but the plump man is not nearly important enough to be able to garner votes this time around, especially considering the insignificance of the Federalist party. With this in mind, Burr throws his chances into the race, and hopes for the best.

• • •

Jefferson beats Burr by two states. Burr tries not to feel bitter about the fact. He almost succeeds.

Unwilling to get into debt and with no functioning treasury, Jefferson does not make the Louisiana purchase. He spends the duration of his presidency creating a new meaning for ‘inefficient’. In a way, he is exactly like Adams.

When Burr confronts Jefferson about his ineptness, the Virginian merely smirks. "The thing is, Burr,” Jefferson tells him with a smile that is nothing short of savage, “we both know what we know.”

The conversation leaves Burr in equal parts reeling and unsettled. What does Jefferson think he knows? He might have an idea, nothing but a suggestion of a thought, unless— _No_. That could not be possible.

That could not be _possible_.

• • •

To the surprise of exactly no one, Jefferson’s attempt at re-election is a failure. Burr feels something twist, not unpleasantly, in his stomach when he receives the news that he has been elected in Jefferson’s stead. He faintly imagines Hamilton's look of outrage, how appalled and _affronted_ he would have been, had he been present to watch Burr be elected president. Burr squishes the thought. It doesn't matter what Hamilton would think; _he's not here._

Yet, not for the first time, Burr wishes he would be. He misses him. He _needs_ him. He thinks he's always needed him, and just hadn't realized it until now.

Burr spends a rather fair amount of time listing what he wants to accomplish as president, and then crossing out the objectives that he deems unrealistic. To his dismay, after he is done, only a few of his ideas remain. The work is made more arduous by the fact that their so-called confederacy is in reality a piece of land divided into states with their own sovereign governments.

One of his goals for the presidency is going through with the Louisiana Purchase. If it had worked for Jefferson, Burr reasons, then it will work for him. Burr uses Pennsylvania’s money for this, the president’s current state of residence is Philadelphia. What he only realizes after the fact is that the purchase deepens Pennsylvania’s already massive debt.

To say that it makes him unpopular is an understatement. In addition to demolishing Pennsylvania’s economy, Burr’s reluctance to share his private life with the public at large leaves him with a reputation of being taciturn and reticent.

Burr wishes for his old life back. More than that, he wants _Hamilton_ back; it is dawning on him just how important the immigrant’s influence had been—not just on the country, not just on the wellbeing of the United States of America, but on _him._

• • •

James Monroe’s behaviour is atrocious. For a person who is supposedly in charge of an entire state, the man seems to have no regard for the lives under his patronage. He watches Monroe put on a caring façade for the general populace, only for it to fall away once the man finds himself out of the public’s eye. The man simply does not care about his constituents, and makes no effort to hide it from Burr. It is _despicable_. Burr says as much, because someone _needs_ to. It is wrong of Monroe, and Burr must make him understand, or make the people see that they _deserve better_.

In response, Burr receives a letter from the man in question. Its contents amount more or less to accusing Burr of being ‘craven’, ‘having the social charisma of a brick’, and ‘slavish pawn of the British crown’. Burr frowns. He sends back a response with the aim of calming the man, and receives another sleight of insults, foremost among which are ‘Machiavellian intriguer’ and ‘the devil himself’.

Burr tries to talk Monroe down from the path of wrath he seems to be set on, but before he can do more than blink, Monroe has issued a duel challenge, has put Burr's reputation, everything he has worked for, on the line, and Burr has no choice but to accept, even as his stomach twists unpleasantly. He does not want for everything he had done to go to waste simply because James Monroe cannot take a little objective criticism.

• • •

As Burr stares up at taller man, his brain races at a thousand thoughts a second.

Hamilton’s absence has been following him like a shadow ever since he returned to 1775—ever since, if Burr is willing to admit it to himself, that fateful morning in Weehawken, all those years ago.

The silence stretching around the two of them is almost deafeningly loud in its emptiness, echoing through his head, again and again and again, with every second that ticks by.

Monroe lifts his arm. His gun is directed at Burr.

Burr swallows. The gun is suddenly very light in his hands. It barely requires any effort to move it, and even the motion of doing so feels mechanical, as though he is a mannequin, controlled by someone else, simply following their directions.

He does not want to do it, does not want to aim his gun at Monroe and pull that thrice-damned trigger. He has already shot a person—he _knows_ what it feels like to watch the bullet he shoots from his own gun kill a person. He does not care for a repeat.

In that moment, Burr realizes what he has to do. He has come full circle, he has done it all, and still he is back right where he started. It's fitting, really, in a way.

The last thing that goes through Burr’s mind is: he is done hiding. Hamilton had been right, and Burr is _done hiding_. He is done hiding and waiting, consequences be damned.

He aims his pistol at the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Sharing is caring, but feedback is even better.
> 
> Merry Christmas, everyone!
> 
> Click on the fic below to read the alternate ending.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [thirteen years of struggle (for liberty and freedom)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13614264) by [Sanna_Black_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin)




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